


Insomnia

by kitszilla



Series: Your Sword, Your Shield [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitszilla/pseuds/kitszilla
Summary: The Overwatch base can be a lonely place, despite how many people are crammed into it. Ana and Reinhardt spend some peaceful late nights together, comfortable in each other's presence. And maybe spend some time lightly flirting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> More AnaHardt! There's not nearly enough of this stuff. Does no one else want to write the purest, most wholesome ship in all of Overwatch? 
> 
> Anyway, have some fluff! More coming soon!

They had only moved into the watchpoint a few days ago the first time Ana bumps into him in the kitchen at 1 am. She says nothing as she pads into the kitchen on bare feet, rummaging in their sparsely stocked cabinets for a mug before making herself a cup of tea. Tea made, she curls up in the battered recliner they’d gotten from the United Nations surplus supplies, pulling a book from under her arm and settling in to read.

  
Reinhardt keeps the silence, focusing on his own work, reading over plans and blueprints on his tablet. When he finally packs up to go to his own bed, she is sleeping, book open against her chest. He pulls a blanket from the back of the equally battered couch nearby and drapes it lightly over her - it’s not his place to wake her.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, it happens again. The tea, the book, and the agreeable silence. And eventually, the soft breathing as she falls asleep, and the blanket settling gently over her as Reinhardt heads to bed.

 

* * *

 

The next week, he speaks up as she’s settling into her chair. “Are you not sleeping well, Ana?” he asks, looking at her over the top of his tablet. “You seem to be awake at this time of night quite often.”  
“So are you,” she points out, raising one eyebrow.

  
“I just...forget,” he explains, gesturing to the tablet, the printouts, the schematics and blueprints covering the table in front of him. “I lose track of what time it is when there’s work to be done.”

  
“Then maybe I’m here to remind you to sleep.” She takes a sip of her tea and settles more deeply into the chair.

  
He grins and shakes his head, then goes back to his work, as she is already looking down at her book, conversation closed. An hour later, when he glances up, she is asleep already. She’s right, he thinks. He could use more sleep too.

  
When he goes over to pull the blanket over her, he pauses. For some reason, her nearness strikes him. There’s always been a distance between her and the others, a certain standoffish-ness. For a moment, his eyes are caught on her face - the way her dark hair falls across her cheek, the soft curve of her lips, the tattooed lines under her eye, still a mystery to him. He pulls the blue fleece blanket across her, and heads to his own bed.

 

* * *

 

Their routine continues for weeks, a backdrop to the rest of their lives, filled with planning, meetings, missions, and training. Reinhardt works his late nights, and Ana curls up in her chair until she falls asleep. They get used to the comfortable silence around each other, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages or creak of the chair as she adjusts her position in her chair.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, it’s more nights than not that Ana’s sleeping in the common room, nestled into the recliner. “Aren’t you worried about your back?” Reinhardt asks her one night, gesturing at the battered chair. “How can you sleep like that every night?”

  
“It’s better than not sleeping at all,” she answers frankly, resting her book in her lap, a finger marking her page.

  
“Is everything okay?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice. He’s known too many other soldiers who can’t sleep, haunted by ghosts of combat, minds racing, deep in depression, any of a variety of things.

  
“Of course,” she replies, grinning. “Maybe I just like your company.”

  
“I’m honored.” The concern dissipates, for now, and he leans back in his chair, pushing his work away. “Our hours of conversation must be charming you.”

  
She smiles, and looks at him for a long moment, eyes searching. “You’re quieter than I thought you could be,” she finally says. “Not to say that’s a bad thing - gives all of our ears a break,” she adds teasingly.

  
Reinhardt’s jaw drops as pain crosses his face. “I’m wounded!” he cries out dramatically, slumping down further in his chair. “And here I thought I was prized for my winning sense of humor, excellent conversation, and fantastic hair!”

  
“And because you’re the biggest person to hide behind,” she adds, laughing.

  
“A tiny thing like you barely needs to hide! Especially when you’re holed up in some tree somewhere, shooting things from 3 kilometers away.”

  
“Regardless, I’m still glad to have you around when I can’t be that far away from the front lines.” Her voice softens, a bit more serious now. “And I really am glad to have your company. It makes it easier on these nights when I can’t sleep.”

  
“Then I shall defend you from insomnia,” Reinhardt announces, dramatically puffing out his chest. “No maiden shall sleep poorly within these halls.”

  
“Well, I’m no maiden, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Standing, she unsettles herself from the depths of the recliner, stretching a bit. “I really should try to sleep in my own bed more often though.”

  
“And leave me alone to myself?”

  
“I think you’ll be okay.” She picks up her book and pads across the room to the door. Turning around for a brief moment, she smiles back at Reinhardt, and a shock thrills through his chest, surprising him, a grin springing onto his face in response to her. “Good night, Reinhardt.”

  
“Good night, Ana,” he answers reluctantly, wishing she would stay. Wishing he could learn more about her, keep cracking through the shell she so carefully tended around herself, wishing he could make her laugh again.

  
“Same time tomorrow?” she asks casually, half-way out the door.

  
“I’ll be waiting.”


End file.
